About Me

My photo

My Blog SCRIBBLE AND EDIT reflects my love of creative writing, design, literature and film. Check out my Poems & haiku, Romantic Flash Fiction; Blogfest Entries; Blog Awards and other prose and Flash Fiction. Do bear with me, as I will reciprocate with those genuine commenters on my blog.  BTW I sometimes withhold comments for challenges until later. Comments about the post are much appreciated. Thank you.
Comments based on others' comments can lead to misunderstandings that spread like whispers!

The only SURE way for me to follow you back is if you leave a comment. However, if your Blog has a black background and white writing then it makes my eyes squiffy...

Thursday, 26 May 2011

Thursday Tale


Wishful Thinking by Madeleine Maddocks

You know that song, ‘99 red balloons’, it’s always been a favourite of mine. For me, Denise Burdock, to be able to tame all those balloons, maybe even have 100 at my command; floating in the summer sky, now that would be an achievement. My parents would surely be proud of me then?

“That’s  just the silliest thing I ever heard!” The neighbour, Mrs. Gordon’s daughter said when I shared my idea with her. She sounded every bit as much like a miniature Mrs. Gordon. She even placed her hands on her hips the same way.

“Tiz not, Harriet Gordon!” I replied, trembling with jangles of emotion. “I got five already!”

“Duh, Dandelion” Harriet’s mouth and nose twisted all out of shape with the sneering way she said my nickname. “In case you hadn’t noticed yours are yellow, not red.”  

Tears prickled down my throat as I  flounced off towards the river, clutching my five balloons by their strings. I sat down on the bank, my green and white-spotted wellies crinkling as I rocked. The tears spluttered onto my cheeks and I stared out across the water allowing the doubts to bubble inside me. Was it silly? Should I let go of the string and release my balloons?  

A tear splopped onto my yellow summer dress and it was then that my mind recalled our teacher, Mrs. Gilbert’s words: ‘Dare to be different. Hang onto your dreams’ she said.

Clutching tighter onto the string and wiping my cheeks with the sleeve of my green cardigan I shouted defiantly “They’re not yellow, Harriet Gordon, they’re ochre.”  (270 words)

How about you?
What story does this image conjure in your writerly mind?